


A New Purpose

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Family, Friendship, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, parentlock (sorta!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mary died during childbirth and Sherlock moved in with John to help raise the baby, Mycroft never expected he would become so involved with their lives. He never expected he would care so much. But all it took was one visit to check on his brother to realise that all of their lives had changed when the baby was born...and perhaps for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic on and off for awhile now, and I'm very excited to finally post it! I hope you enjoy this latest addition to the Amelia series. If you are new to the Amelia series, you could read this as standalone since it takes place so soon after Amelia was born.

_Have you checked in on your brother yet?_

Mycroft felt like throwing his mobile at the ground upon seeing yet another text from his mother about Sherlock. His parents had come to London to help John and Sherlock with the baby after Mary tragically passed away during childbirth, but their stay eventually had to end. Ever since leaving the city his mum had been nagging him about Sherlock, demanding that he keep a constant eye on his brother to make sure he was well. She had good reason to worry- after all, Sherlock had never been around a baby in his life- but for god’s sakes this wasn’t Mycroft’s ordeal to be concerned about!

Just to make his mother leave him alone he finally visited John’s home in the suburbs that evening, where his brother was temporarily living. He even took a photo of the front of the home with a newspaper showing the day’s to prove he was there.

 _Yes. I am here now._ He texted her back along with a photo of a newspaper showing her today’s date.

 _Charming,_ was the reply.

Then:

_Take some pictures of the baby for me. I can’t get Sherlock to send me any._

He let out a groan and once again resisted the urge to destroy his mobile. God help them all if either he or his brother ever had a child of their own for their mother to obsess over.

A smirk crossed his face at the mere thought.

_Like that would ever happen._

As he descended the front steps he could hear the sounds of a crying baby from inside the home. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell- the last thing he ever wanted or needed in his life was a crying baby. Did he _really_ want to interfere here?

As though reading his mind, another text came through from his mother:

_He is your brother! He needs you right now, I don’t care if neither of you realises it!_

With a frustrated sigh he pocketed his mobile and finally rang the doorbell. The crying became louder and louder as his brother’s footsteps drew closer to the door. When the door was thrown open he met his brother’s eyes for the first time in weeks, and Mycroft froze.

A two month old baby girl was absolutely screaming- and practically trembling- in Sherlock’s arms. His brother’s own face was pale, his cheeks drawn. His eyes were tired, desperate, pleading.

He needed help.

“Mother wanted me to check on you,” Mycroft explained when Sherlock didn’t say anything. “Clearly it’s not a good time.”

Sherlock continued to stare at him. He couldn’t tell if his brother was pissed that he was interrupting him right now or simply too exhausted to have the energy to speak.

“Just come in,” Sherlock finally mumbled.

His brother didn’t say a word as he led him through the maze that had become of Dr Watson’s living room. A playpen sat in the far corner. Baby clothes and onesies were thrown about the floor. Some horrid children’s show consisting of adults dancing to children’s songs was playing on the telly. Both end tables on either side of the sofa were covered with empty bottles. There were obvious sick stains on parts of the sofa where the two friends had fed the baby; there were sick stains on Sherlock’s t-shirt as well. Turning off the telly, Sherlock sat down on the sofa, holding the baby girl close in his arms.

“Do you want to say hello to Uncle Mycroft?” Sherlock asked the sobbing child.

Mycroft frowned.

“I’m not her uncle,” he pointed out.

“It’s an expression,” Sherlock sighed. It was obvious by his tone that he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Glancing around the house, Mycroft felt like he had never been so out of place. John barely even liked him: he doubted he would feel comfortable having him around his baby.

“Is Dr Watson home?” Mycroft asked.

“He’s at work,” his brother replied, bouncing the baby in his arms.

Baby Watson was finally beginning to calm down. Her eyes gazed up at Mycroft with eyes full of wonder and curiosity. He had only seen her two times before: after her birth and at Mary’s funeral. But then there had always been people around. Everyone else was obsessing over this little new life form and he was able to stay in the background.

Now here she was, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock encouraged. “You can hold her, come here.”

There was a kind of desperation in Sherlock’s voice, a desperation that told him his brother not only wanted him to hold the baby girl but needed him to. Sherlock needed a break.

Although he was entirely uncomfortable with the thought of holding a little human being in his arms, he still walked over to the sofa and sat down beside his brother. He had a sudden flashback of the year Sherlock was born, when there was many a time when his mother or father asked him to look after his brother for just a little while, just for a few minutes so they could rest their eyes and arms. If he could be around a baby then, he could now.

“Here you go,” Sherlock said using his “baby voice” as he passed little Amelia over to him.

Mycroft held his breath as he felt the weight of the baby in his arms. Amelia continued to gaze up at him, trying to figure him out.

“Hello,” Mycroft greeted awkwardly. The baby just stared. Swallowing nervously, he finally confessed to Sherlock: “I don’t know-“

He stopped short when he saw his baby brother had already curled up on the sofa and closed his eyes. His heart fell as he thought of his brother being held in that cell, so emotionally and physically beaten that Mycroft had secretly worried if he could ever be okay. Now here he was, helping his best mate raise a child.

Sherlock was strong, as strong as Mycroft always knew he could be.

“Can you put her to bed?” Sherlock asked, his voice drenched with exhaustion.

“I…are you sure?”

He was certain Sherlock must have been out of it if he was putting him in charge of a baby. Sherlock curled his body in half and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Just put her in the cot,” Sherlock mumbled. “Turn on her music. She’ll eventually fall asleep.”

“Her music?”

“Bach. On the Ipad in her room.”

He couldn’t help but to crack a smile at the thought of Sherlock teaching John’s daughter about Bach already. Mycroft knew the last thing Sherlock needed was for him to argue with him about doing something so trivial, so he stood up from the sofa. Amelia let out a big yawn as he led her across the room and into the nursery. Her little brown eyes were fighting off sleep as he sat her down in the crib.

“Goodnight,” he told her.

Mycroft made to leave but stopped when he felt a tiny finger wrap around his index finger. His eyes went wide as he looked down and saw she had grabbed a hold of him- like she didn’t want him to leave.

“You need rest, little one,” Mycroft said softly. “Babies require a lot of sleep.”

As he stood there watching over the baby he remembered his mother’s plea for more pictures. To please her he snapped a photo with his mobile and sent it to her.

 _Happy?_ He wrote alongside the photo.

Yet he found himself saving a copy of the photo on his mobile.

He turned on the Bach album and shut the main light off so that only the nightlight shone. He knew it wasn’t likely that Amelia would fall straight to sleep so he decided he would actually like to stick around to look after her if she woke up. With a faint smile still on his face Mycroft walked back into the living room where his brother was completely out of it on the sofa.

Instead of waking him Mycroft began picking up the dirty laundry from the floor and placed it in the bin. He turned off the telly so Sherlock could have at least some silence.

Mycroft scooped up the dirty bottles and carried them into the kitchen. He saw there were dishes piled in the sink; some looked days old so he loaded the dishwasher. He could only imagine how long it had been since Sherlock had eaten a decent meal so he fished around the pantry until he found a box of pasta. It would be something easy on the stomach late at night and something the two mates could make leftovers out of.

His mobile buzzed again with a new text from his mother:

_How is Sherlock?_

With a smirk on his face he stepped back into the living room to take a picture of Sherlock sleeping on the sofa.

 _He’s putting so much pressure on himself,_ his mother texted. _Please, look after him._

That was his whole life in a nutshell, wasn’t it? _Look after Sherlock._

But as he gazed down at the sleeping form of his little brother he realised his mum was right. Sherlock had already taken on the impossible task of faking his own death and spending three years taking down Moriarty’s web. As far as he knew John knew nothing of what Sherlock went through in those years. He didn’t know about the shitholes he stayed in, the animals he spent his days and nights tracking. He didn’t know about the people he helped kill or the operations that went incredibly wrong.

He didn’t know about the scars.

Shuddering, Mycroft closed his eyes as he tried to push away the memory of seeing his baby brother being tortured.

Sherlock was safe now.

He was back with his best friend.

He had a safe place to stay.

His brother had a new purpose in life.

At that moment the front door opened and closed. Mycroft held his breath as John Watson stepped through his front door and frozen when he found Mycroft standing in his living room.

“Erm…hello?” John said.

It hit him then just how little he and Dr Watson truly knew each other. For all he knew the doctor still loathed him for allowing Sherlock to fake his death. He actually didn’t know the first thing about Dr Watson- well, that was a lie: he knew practically every _fact_ there was to know about him. But he had never gotten to know him personally.

“I came over to check on Sherlock,” he explained. His eyes fell to the floor in embarrassment as he realised how selfish that sounded. He was there to check on Sherlock…not the baby.

“Ah, well…looks like he wasn’t in the mood for a visit,” John mused as he nodded to his sleeping best friend. Suddenly there was a loud wail from the nursery, and John closed his eyes. “Sorry, I’ll just be in here.”

John’s rucksack slid down his arm and to the floor as he raced into the nursery. Mycroft couldn’t help but to follow him and lean against the doorway, admiring his brother’s friend as he scooped up his baby and let her rest against his chest. Little Amelia’s eyes were wide open and red as she screamed and screamed. Those eyes looked across the room and seemed to find Mycroft. He wasn’t sure if she really was focusing in on him or not, but his stomach twisted into knots as he found himself yet again in the spotlight.

“It’s okay, love,” John murmured as he gently rubbed her back. “It’s okay, Daddy’s home now.”

 _Daddy’s home now…_ did the child really have that much of awareness of when her father was around and when he wasn’t? Mycroft found the way the baby seemed to be able to connect with others fascinating. She seemed to be so trusting, but he supposed that was a necessity when you were so tiny and unable to care for yourself.

Yet as soon as she was in her father’s arms she seemed to calm down. It really was as though she was upset from not being able to see her father all day, but now that he was home she was fine. She felt safe. Sherlock was apparently a perfectly suitable guardian, but he wasn’t _dad_.

“Uh-oh…I think someone’s wet!” John announced as he sniffed the baby’s nappy. He glanced up to Mycroft, apologetic. “Sorry, I’ll have to change her.”

He didn’t seem surprise that Mycroft had followed him, but he did seem surprise that he was sticking around for the nappy changing.

“Oh…nope,” John said as he opened her nappy, “it’s a poo. You just wanted to make sure you got Daddy’s attention when he got home, didn’t you?”

John was all grins as he tickled her tummy and watched her giggle. Even though he was clearly exhausted from work, he didn’t seem to mind his parenting duties at all.

“It must be hard to have to be away from her all day,” Mycroft realised.

The doctor nodded.

“Yeah,” John sighed as he secured a new nappy onto his daughter. “I miss her like crazy. I worry about her all the time. Ican’t _not_ think about her.”

“You should have taken more leave,” he suggested.

Shrugging, John replied:

“I have a really important job. There’s only so long they can be without me, I know that. Plus she has Sherlock during the day, and they adore each other.”

Mycroft’s lips turned up in a smirk.

“Really?” He mused.

With a grin, John lifted up his child and put her back into her cot. She grasped his hand and he held onto it, gazing down at her. She giggled.

“Her eyes light up whenever he’s around her,” he explained. “She giggles when he plays his violin.”

“Ah, so she’s just making fun of him,” Mycroft joked.

John chuckled.

“They’re very comfortable around each other. I’m really, really amazed by how great Sherlock’s been. Honestly, he’s been a life saver. I don’t know how I could have gotten through the past two months without him.”

His eye’s narrowed at the comment. It was actually quite humbling to know that his brother was so important to someone else’s life. Sherlock went so long in his life just getting by, just shifting from one shit flat to another. He never really had any goals- not to Mycroft’s knowledge anyway. Now he was helping to -raise a child. He was a vital part of that child’s life and- most importantly- the child seemed to enjoy having him as a part of her life.

Though he rarely admitted it, there were certain points in Sherlock’s life when Mycroft was truly proud of his baby brother. When he graduated from uni, when he gave up the drugs, when he solved his first murder case, when he volunteered to fake his death for the safety of his friend’s, when he began taking down Moriarty’s web.

Yes, he was prouder than perhaps Sherlock would ever know. Perhaps he didn’t tell his brother enough how proud of him he was.

“Go to sleep baby girl,” John said softly.

Yet his daughter just grinned up at him, wide-eyed.

“I think she’s happy that daddy is finally home,” Mycroft confessed with a smirk.

“Yes,” John sighed. “Alright then, up you go.”

To his daughter’s delight John lifted her up and sat down with her in the rocking chair beside her cot. Amelia grinned as she planted her face against her daddy’s chest and rubbed her eyes. It really was like she was fighting off sleep just to spend time with him.

“How is her health?” Mycroft asked.

He knew most parents obsessed over their baby’s health, but as a doctor John must be even more paranoid.

“Oh she’s in perfect health,” John said. He made goofy faces at his daughter, which made her eyes light up with delight. “She sleeps plenty when she wants too; she’s very attentive of what’s going on around her. Her weight is perfect for her age, and she’s eating just the right amount that she should. I’m sure the ear infections are coming, but this little one is perfect.”

Tickling her tummy with one hand, he wiggled her hand with the other before kissing the top of it.

“She has ten perfect little fingers,” he announced. John grabbed ahold of one of her feet next and kissed it too. “Ten perfect little toes.”

Amelia giggled, and a bright smile crossed John’s face. Any signs of exhaustion from his long shift at work were gone; the little girl had him wrapped around her finger.

Literally.

“She has a perfect little laugh,” John went on, “and to think she’s part me.”

John laughed at his own joke and leaned down to gently place a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. For a long moment he gazed at his little girl, and Mycroft could only imagine what was going through his mind.

_Nothing can ever happen to her._

Mycroft could only imagine after all of the cases John had solved with Sherlock, all the criminals they had faced and dangerous situations they had gotten into- after Moriarty and thinking he had lost his best friend- after losing his wife, that John was constantly on edge about his daughter’s safety.

Swallowing nervously, John looked from his daughter up to Mycroft, and he knew exactly what the doctor was going to ask.

“I know it’s hypocritical of me to ask, after all I’ve said to you about the level of security you put on us all those years,” John began. He stared Mycroft in the eye for a long moment, commanding his attention. He wondered if John had been looking for an opportune moment to ask this, if he had been debating rather or not it would be appropriate. “But I can’t let anything happen to her. My daughter _must_ be safe. She can’t live like Sherlock and I did. She can’t face the same fears, the same threats. I’ve got to know that all of that is behind us…and I want to ask you to do everything in your power to make sure my daughter is safe. Raise our security to the highest possible level of surveillance if you have to- just make sure nothing is going to happen to my daughter. ”

Mycroft simply nodded.

“Of course,” he replied.

He wished he could have told John that the threat was over, that his family was perfectly safe. But he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t give him false hope; he couldn’t let John let his guard down. The truth was there was always threat when it came to Sherlock: there was always criminals he had helped put away that were determined to get their revenge when they got out. There were Moriarty-inspired syndicates that were beginning to pop up across the globe. Most were harmless for now, but one could not predict when one of those groups would gain real support.

In reality though, John was safest right where he was: in the suburbs, fairly off the radar, with his hands out of the consulting detective field. The best way for his family to stay safe was for Sherlock to dedicate his life to helping his friend raise his daughter and for John to keep his job at the hospital.

Yes, he would keep a weathered eye out for the Watsons.

It was the least he could do.

“Dr Watson,” Mycroft spoke up.

“Please, we’ve known each other long enough…John is fine.”

A bemused smile peered at the corner of Mycroft’s lips for a split second but quickly fell as he considered what all he should be saying to John.

“I want to apologise for all the pain I’ve caused you,” he explained, his voice stiff and hollow. John looked up at him in surprise but didn’t argue. He kept rocking his child to sleep as Mycroft continued: “I want to apologise for any danger I put you in, and for the trauma Sherlock and I put you through when he…”

He hesitated, trying to think of a delicate way to say it.

“Faked his death?” John offered. Mycroft swallowed nervously and glanced down at the ground with his hands behind his back. Suddenly he felt more uncomfortable than ever being in the Watson’s home. He didn’t belong there, and he had no business pretending like he had a place in John’s life. “You don’t owe me anything, Mycroft. I’m asking you to help keep us safe as a personal favor, but you don’t owe my family anything.”

But that just wasn’t true.

He owed John and his daughter _everything_.

Suddenly John’s lips turned up in a smile, and his eyes twinkled as he gazed down at his daughter.

“Do you know what’s funny?” John asked rhetorically. “I might not even have Amelia if it wasn’t for Sherlock abandoning me.”

“Perhaps,” Mycroft offered, “if you believe in fate- if you believe everything happens for a reason.”

“Well I’d like to think I went through all of that for _something_ ,” John pointed out. “I suppose I still could have met Mary in another way, but I don’t think I would have gone back to working in the hospital. I would have still been gallivanting around the city with Sherlock, perfectly content with the chaos and uncertainty that came with being a consulting detective’s blogger. I enjoyed the chaos, I really did, but I know now that you can’t put a price on stability or safety. You can’t put a price on family. I wanted children all my life, but honestly I got to the point where I just didn’t think it would happen and now I have this perfect little girl.”

He carefully raised his daughter so that she could rest against his shoulder. Mycroft couldn’t have been more relieved to hear how happy John was with the way his life turned out, but as he stared at the baby in the doctor’s arms he also couldn’t help but to think still of just how much trouble he had brought him.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, please…”

“Mycroft, it’s fine,” John promised.

“If there’s _anything_ I can do,” Mycroft reiterated. “Please let me know. If there’s anything she needs…any education funding or recommendations, perhaps, to certain schools.”

With a laugh, John waved off the suggestion.

“I think we’ll be fine,” he replied. “Doctors make pretty good money, you know. Although…I might take you up on a school recommendation. Is it wrong that she’s two months old and I’m already researching schools?”

“Not at all,” Mycroft said, shaking his head. “Mummy had my entire education path by the time I was four.”

John looked up and stopped, as though he was thinking _yes, and looked how you turned out_. With a sigh, John leaned his head against his child’s and closed his eyes.

“I suppose I should be more concerned about getting her to start sleeping through the night.”

“Planning ahead is human nature,” said Mycroft. He glanced to the baby, who was still lazily gazing up at her father. He supposed it was hard to fall asleep when adults were talking right beside you. “But it would probably be easier to get her to sleep without me here to distract you two. I can see myself out.”

The doctor simply nodded; he seemed to be heading to sleep quicker than his daughter was. With his lips pursed in a firm line, Mycroft turned around to leave the home. But just as he stepped out of the nursery, he remembered:

“There’s pasta in the fridge, for you and Sherlock. Oh- and I started the washing up. There’s some laundry in the washer that will be ready to be dried soon. I can stay and finish that, if you’d like.”

Opening his eyes, John stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to figure out if he had slipped into some sort of odd dream.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” he finally said.

Mycroft shrugged.

“Sherlock fell asleep almost as soon as he saw me,” he explained. “I thought you both could use the helping hand.”

John nodded, looking a bit dazed, as though he still couldn’t believe the conversation he just had. He turned to leave again, but this time John stopped him:

“You know, you’re welcomed to stop by any time. You know, to check on Sherlock…or to see the baby, if you want.”

He did a double take; he opened and shut his mouth a few times before finally forcing himself to reply:

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you, John. If my brother gives you any trouble-“

“He’s no trouble,” John smiled and laughed at himself. “I can’t believe I’m saying that about Sherlock Holmes, but really, he’s been an amazing help.”

Mycroft offered John a final smile.

“It’s nice to hear that,” he admitted. “Goodnight, John.”

“’night Mycroft,” John replied with a yawn. “Thanks again.”

He simply nodded as he turned and closed the nursery door behind him. As he crossed the living room he paused to stare once more at his brother. Sherlock was still sound asleep, his body curled in half on the sofa with his arms wrapped around a pillow.

“Well done, baby brother,” he said quietly.

Putting his coat back on, Mycroft stepped outside and took his mobile out of his pocket. Pictures would not be enough to calm his mother’s; he would have to phone her.

“Myc!” His mother exclaimed when she answered. “I do hope that by getting a phone call from you that doesn’t mean you have bad news.”

“Not today, Mummy,” he promised. “I wanted to let you know that Sherlock is just fine. Well, he’s a bit exhausted, but Dr Watson tells me he’s been a great help. It seems Sherlock and the baby are getting along just fine.”

His mother let out a delighted laugh.

“It’s really remarkable how much Sherlock has changed,” she admitted. Startled at her confession, Mycroft stayed silent and let her ramble on: “I think I owe some of that change to you.”

“Oh all I did was make sure he didn’t get himself killed,” Mycroft replied innocently. His mother could never know just what lengths he went to to make sure his brother was safe. “Well I don’t want to keep you.”

“Don’t pretend, Mycroft dear,” his mother laughed. “I know you are a busy man. Thank you for checking on Sherlock. It means a lot to me. Father and I will try to make it to London in the next few weeks to check in on Sherlock, John, and the baby.”

Closing his eyes, Mycroft swallowed nervously and reached out to hold onto the door to steady himself. Sherlock and the baby…family visits…was this his life now?

“Do give me notice, will you?” He asked.

“Of course,” she said with a sigh. “Forty-eight hours, as always: long enough for you to conveniently by in meetings in Russia.”

“You know my job, Mummy,” he said. “Always unpredictable.”

He could practically see her standing in the kitchen and smiling, knowing she didn’t buy it.

“Good night, Myc-“

“Mycroft,” he muttered. “Good night mother.”

“I love you.”

Taking a deep breath, he replied:

“I love you too, mother.”

It had to be one of the most civil conversations he had with his mother in some time. He wasn’t sure that she would ever forgive him for Moriarty, for helping Sherlock fake his death, for last Christmas. In fact it almost made him think…so what if his life was Baby Watson and his parents dropping in every now and then? It was quite…civil.

Maybe it was about time his family tried to be…well…a family again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I would love to know what you thought!


End file.
